


A Small Amount of Comfort

by lilmaeval



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Frottage, Grinding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:06:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7561576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilmaeval/pseuds/lilmaeval
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sensitive Junker was not long for this world, and yet Jamison Fawkes somehow managed to live for at least twenty-five years of his existence without getting killed over the fact that he was one to cry easily.  That was because, for the most part, he was quick to hide.  However, when one hires a bodyguard whose sole function is to stay by one's side, hiding wasn't much of an option.  Jamison could live with the embarrassment, but did Roadhog have to hold him so damn tenderly?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Amount of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MelonSodaFizz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelonSodaFizz/gifts).



As much as Jamison Fawkes hated to admit it, he was very easy to cry.  Sure, he had his tough moments, and he was much more likely to lash out and make sure his anger was well known before anything else, that’s how he survived as a Junker.  It was the only way  _ to _ survive in the irradiated wastes of Australia.

 

Even so, the slightest kindness shown his way without the intention of getting something from him was both rare and bad for his image, mostly because there was about a ninety-nine percent chance of him breaking character in some way.  Be it a crack of a more genuine, less crazed smile or his eyes welling up, Jamison tended to suppress all goodwill and hope that the world wouldn’t be completely shit whenever he went out, which wasn’t hard since he was a world renowned criminal at this point.

 

His bodyguard, however, being that his occupation was to literally be by his side at most points in the day, was the only one Jamison really didn’t have much of a choice when it came to showing his weaker side.  After all, it wasn’t like he was all that strong, wasn’t that why he got the guy?  Not strong in the emotional sense, that was.  No, Roadhog’s hire was gotten not just because of his intimidating stature helping in quell any possible fights, there was also a second part that Jamison desperately needed him for...

 

He lived five years fighting for his life and losing limbs in the process of protecting his treasure, and each time he got himself fucked up, it was mostly due to him losing his temper over something petty.  Or big.  It really didn’t matter, because he fought with the same passion regardless, and though he was tough, and yes, he was very much so physically tough, considering his thin frame tended to help in tricking his opponents into thinking he would be an easy target.  However, once they caught on, that was when things went south and Jamison was left rightless twice.

 

So it went that Jamison let his bodyguard be his impulse control, and though he still had his urges to fight back whenever some dickhead decided to go that extra mile and piss him right off, ol’ ‘Hog was usually there to pull him by the riptire out of trouble.

 

Those were the situations he could tolerate.  The ones he absolutely could not, however, were when he cried.

 

Well, there was an exception to that even, but that was when Mako didn’t find his crying out of place.  If he was crying because he was so happy, his bodyguard’s stationary motions meant he probably saw it as a normal quirk of ‘Rat, and he was right.  Happy crying was from making an explosion that could be called modern art.  From having his genius finally recognized.  From finding the ever rare and super shiny golden Pachimari.  Jamison wondered if maybe under that mask, ‘Hog let out a tear every once in awhile.  He couldn’t imagine it, but then, he didn’t know what his face looked like either.  Hell, most times, he couldn’t even remember the guy’s real name, or that he even had one.

 

For some reason, however, Mako seemed to know all about his client, and it really pissed the smaller Junker off.  Jamison had his ticks for when he was about to cry, and though they were obvious, he thought they couldn’t really be told what they meant until his bodyguard had picked up on them somehow.  His shivering would increase, following him crossing his arms, as well as a pout usually finding its way on his face.  Other times, instead of a pout, he might laugh, a weaker one compared to his usual manic giggle, but it couldn’t be so different that it could be seen as the laughter of a man at his edge, could it?  Maybe it did.  Maybe that was why, when he did laugh that way, Mako always seemed to notice much faster what was going on.

 

Most of the time, Jamison would shove off the large hands reaching for him, those wonderfully large, beautiful hands, wearing the black nail polish Jamison painstakingly put on each finger.  He needed to do that before anything else and then hide out in the nearest hidey-hole until he calmed down, and then never speak of it again.  If he didn’t...He’d indulge.

 

He’d cave into the large arms and tight embrace the other would give him.  The scent of grease and the dusty earth, comforting and familiar to the man who grew up with those smells as his home, and thick flesh to hold tightly to.  Better than any plush could give him, he hatefully admitted.  What he hated even more, though, was the fact that this situation was becoming the norm.  That Mako seemed to be getting  _ faster _ at grabbing him, at not letting him get away, and Jamison’s fight or flight instinct melting away at an alarming rate.  There were even times he hadn’t moved.  It was like he  _ wanted _ to be held, and to every instinct the Junker had, it was a disgusting, shameful thing to desire.  What few morals Jamison did have, he made celibacy from all touch his number one.  His bodyguard broke it with his permission, but he’d gone too far, and Jamison let him.

 

All incidents where Jamison had cried prior usually involved something personal.  Maybe he had a moment of lucidity, maybe it was the sight of corporate wastefulness getting to him, maybe it was the realization that the closest thing he’d had to a friend in all his life was his bodyguard.  All varying degrees of uselessness to cry about, to be sure, though he’d be happiest if he didn’t cry at all.  Tonight, however, was the most ridiculous of them all, and really made the blonde question just how strong someone could consider themselves if they cried at a Nicholas Spark movie.

 

Not just crying, no, sobbing.  Heaving.  Choking on his own breathing.  There was snot everywhere it felt like, and all Jamison could do was cry, and cry, and cry.  The arms soon followed, and as the credits played, he felt a tissue pressed to his nose.

 

“Blow,” a gruff, muffled voice spoke from closely above.  Jamison obeyed with a whine, shaking as he was held in the warm arms that cradled him.  This was getting out of hand.

 

“I ‘ated it,” he croaked out, voice even more cracked than ever, “why do they always gotta kill ‘em off...c-c’mon...!” He couldn’t even form full words for too long.  How could he let himself stoop this low--

 

“Breath,” the voice commanded, placing one of those large hands on his chest, forcing Jamison to focus until he was at a regular respiration once more.  “That’s right,” Mako’s voice softened, “good job.  I didn’t realize you were such a fuckin’ romantic.”

 

“I-I ain’t!” Jamison instantly defended, still feeling streaks down his eyes.  Why the hell were they still there...?!

 

“Then why did you pick the movie?”

 

Well.  He had him there.  “I-I dunno,” Jamison looked down, pressing his organic and bionic index fingers together, “j-just looked like...an interestin’ film.  I guess.  I didn’t know what it was about.”

 

“Okay,” Jamison heard a large swallow, “then why did you say the word ‘always’?”

 

“I swear ta God, Hoggy,” Jamison grasped his face tight in both hands, “just drop it already!!  I’m a fuckin’ crybaby, ya don’t gotta rub it in!!”

 

“I called you a romantic, not a crybaby,” Mako corrected, squeezing Jamison closer and with one swift motion, pulling the blonde’s hands away from his tear-stained face, very visible with the parts that weren’t coated in dirt anymore, “but if yer gonna bring that up, yeah, I guess you are.”

 

Clenching his teeth, Jamison turned his head away, feeling it reel.  He was exhausted.  Damn crying got him all worked up...the Junker felt large fingertips caress his chest from top to bottom, a warm, giddy feeling working its way through him.  “What’ya doin’...?” Jamison slowly looked back up, the mask above him as immobile as ever.

 

That was until it moved close.  Then, the tip of its snout touched his own nose, an act Jamison was absolutely loathe to admit was fucking adorable.  “Just wonderin’ if ya’d like somethin’ extra,” that low, deep voice spoke, closer than ever and sending shivers down the Junker’s spine, “somethin’ to appeal to both the crybaby and the romantic in ya.”

 

Oh.

 

_ Ohhhhh. _

 

Jamison’s head was spinning.  Ever since he learned what sex was from a very early age at seeing its practice in usually non-consensual acts as those starved for touch pressed it onto anyone they could grab and pin down in the Australian wastes, Jamison had promised himself he’d never let anyone grab him, and he’d never let anyone touch him.  Once again, it seemed like he was very willing to let his bodyguard break all his damn rules again.  Taking a deep breath, the blonde reached around and felt the other’s mask all the way around, touching the strap keeping the gas mask wrapped around the man’s head.  He could feel the warm suddenly sap away.

 

They were still for so long.  This was what Mako had wanted, wasn’t it?  Fucking off with everything they held onto and just go at it like rabbits, right?  At least, Jamison was quickly realizing that was something  _ he’d _ wanted for a while now.  Something he’d thought those masculine arms of his bodyguard might have given him earlier, and maybe watching a romance movie was in the plan of trying to plant the seed in the other’s head.  Maybe it had, but with how fast this was going, and with how little of thought Jamison put into most decisions, maybe he really was moving at a quicker pace than the other even could.

 

Jamison dropped the strap, pulling back his hand when it was suddenly grasped at the wrist.  “Hold on,” the other breathed out, letting go of his hand once more to reach down and lift up the lower part of his mask.  In a flash, plump, hard lips were pressed against Jamison’s own thin ones, a thousand thrills tingling down his crooked spine.  Messy and uncoordinated, only desperately pressing as hard as they could.  Jamison felt a blur of giggles escape him, biting down on the fat of Mako’s bottom lip and moan as he clinged on, sucking on it and letting go with a pop.

 

Eyes shut tight, Jamison was unable to see the face his hands were cupping.  Mako’s mask was still half on, he could feel that, but below, the cheek jowls he caressed had a rough, grainy texture.  A lot like burns, as well as a few distinct scars he could make out.  If he could tell that with just his touch...Well, it didn’t make a lick of difference.  Clearly, the other could live without the mask on, seeing as they had been kissing for quite some time without too much of a need to break for air.  Or maybe that was because they’d slowed down, and thus had longer gaps.  Either way, anytime Jamison’s eyes did flutter open, they were greeted with the sight of a distorted leather snout, never enough time or space to look down.  If this was the way he wanted it, the smaller Junker could live with it for now.  At least they could kiss.

 

His back was pressed to the couch, thumbs feeling his chest and spreading his legs around the large man’s waist.  He heard the sound of metal drop as a layer of fabric drop, causing Jamison to finally look.

 

He first looked down and watched as Mako removed his pants, being sure to keep his boxers on.  Then too, he did the same for the man below, keeping the white briefs the blonde wore that held more than their fair share of holes and marks.  The other didn’t seem to care much, which was good, since he was definitely still able to see through the portholes in the gasmask.  Meanwhile, the man’s face looked actually a lot better than Jamison had given it credit.  In fact, he had to admit it to himself, all the scarring that was visible was pretty damn sexy like the rest of his bodyguard.

 

“We should start slow,” Mako grunted, grasping Jamison’s hips and pressing their groins together, the blonde instantly biting down on his left hand’s middle finger, “build up to more at a later time.”

 

Jamison’s heart thumped hard in his chest, and a thought popped into his head that caused him to grin wide.  “Gee,” he drawled, “what a gentleman.”

 

“Quiet.” For the first time, Jamison saw Mako blush.  It was a sight he promised himself to never, ever, ever forget, bad memory be damned.

 

Lucky for Mako, Jamison was one to lose his words, but that didn’t mean he’d be silent, oh no.  As the larger man pressed down his massive bulge against the smaller man’s own goods, Jamison felt a garble of incoherent pleasured moans escape him, ones that sounded awfully close to his shivering in the cold that one time they held a heist in the Kremlin Armoury.  He yelped as a thumb rolled across his left nipple, followed by a gasp as his pegless right leg was tenderly caressed.  He was a mess beneath the man, and with the constant flow of blood headed south in his body, Jamison knew he was nearly there.

 

Especially so with the way Mako was throbbing against him, luscious large lips parted and breathing heavily, enough to see the tips of his teeth inside his mouth and the pink tongue inside.  Jamison raised both arms, caressing those rough cheeks again.  He couldn’t see all of him just yet, but no matter what lay under there, he knew he would want him regardless.  The action seemed just enough to have Mako dive down and have them kiss again, tongues lapping against each other as the added close pressure brought them both down a similar path.

 

Mako let out a low, satisfied growl as his nails dug into Jamison’s thin skin, the taste of his smokey breath filling the blonde’s lungs as he took it in through their connected lips.  As they parted, Jamison choked as he felt his high take over, panting for air and reaching down after a moment to see the damage.  Yeah...Yeah, it was time to throw this pair out anyway, wasn’t it?

 

All too soon, and before Jamison could protest, the man pulled his mask down.  Luckily for him, however, he was pulled back into his embrace once more, the leathery mask pressing against his cheek as he felt the pair of lips beneath pucker and kiss the surface that separated them.  “Feel better?” Mako asked, a flutter in Jamison’s heart as he heard him speak once more and breath through the filter.  Okay...maybe he wouldn’t mind hearing him wear it during sex just once.  Maybe.  If things kept going the way they were, which it looked like they were going to.

 

“Yeah,” Jamison answered, booping the mask’s snoot with a raised bushy eyebrow, “much better~!”

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to [melonsodafizz](http://melonsodafizz.tumblr.com/) who requested I do a fic about Jamie crying and Mako comforting him~! Hope you all enjoy!!
> 
> And you can follow me @[lilmaeval](http://lilmaeval.tumblr.com/)!!


End file.
